


of ashes and new beginnings

by Anyamany



Category: Day6 (Band)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Historical, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, YoungFeel Week 2018, day 3 - past lives, post korean war seoul, wonpil is a kid from the upper class, younghyun is a veteran from the korean war
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-05-18 14:32:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14854565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anyamany/pseuds/Anyamany
Summary: The one in which Kang Younghyun would have done anything to forget and Kim Wonpil wished he had something to remember.alternative title: spring 54.





	1. the first spring - whiskey in my veins

Younghyun remembers a lot of things. 

Some are from days he would have done anything to forget; some are from days that he'd do anything to go back to. Some are memories he wouldn’t give up for anything, because although not all of them were pleasant, they were all the first steps he took towards much bigger things, the seeds of a new chapter in his life. And those memories are the ones he likes looking back on the most.

 

_April 24, 1954. Seoul, Gangnam-gu. Irwonbon-dong._

The muffled sound of a camera's shutter going off in the entrance hall.

For half a second, a bright flash of white light blinded him, making him blink a few times. Still getting used to the atmosphere that went back to its dim quality now that the flash had disappeared, he looked around, scanning the area for the source of the loud and cheerful music that was making young couples dance in the middle of the ballroom: it seemed to be pouring out from an old jukebox sitting in one of the corners of the vicinity, next to an old but sturdy piano and a variety of other instruments. At least now Younghyun knew exactly which corner he had to avoid.  
The young man breathed in a little and mustered up all the confidence he was able to find, his eyes still glued to the crowd.

It was now or never.

This place was exactly where he needed to be: as he had predicted, the recently reopened bar was packed with kids from all of Seoul’s bourgeoisie. Younghyun could even recognize some familiar faces he had seen in previous parties, but this one seemed to be the biggest one he had stepped foot in just yet. The young man breathed in, taking in the bright lights; he hated being there, but there was no way around the hurdle. After all, if he wanted to survive in such a gigantic city, filled to the brim with ambitious outsiders, he’d have to start by building up a name for himself.  
Oh, how easy it had seemed back when he had thought of it, gently lulled to sleep by a train taking him to Seoul; right now, for the umpteenth time, he felt like he’d be unable to utter a mere word once faced with anyone. Truthfully, talking to any of the guests of the party wasn’t even what he was fearing the most. Maybe it had more of something to do with how loud and packed the bar was, how close to other people he had to be.

As Younghyun power walked his way through the dancers to go find a seat at the drink station in the opposite corner of the one where the jukebox was, he couldn’t help but feel incomprehension take over his thoughts at the sight of the bright smiles on the faces around him. What were these people even celebrating anyways? The end of the war? Had they really been aware of what had been going on outside, or were they only using the end of it all as an excuse to get drunk? The answer was painfully obvious.

On the bar’s wooden surface, a few orphan glasses were lined up, some of them only half emptied. Younghyun thought a moment about the options he had: buying an overpriced drink to look socially acceptable crossed his mind, but instead, he turned around to check his surroundings. No one paid attention to him, too busy to steal glances at one of the many boys clad in an old soldier uniform, hovering in front of a bar. He sighed, and grabbed the glass that looked the less empty, before discreetly going to sit on the side of the station with his borrowed drink. Of course he had no intention of putting the glass anywhere near his mouth, but he needed an excuse to stay seated there, where he could see most of the crowd.

The party was now in full swing, laughter almost overpowering the roaring music coming from the jukebox, bright dresses twirling around while the young women wearing them displayed lovely smiles. Their all wore their hair neatly and elegantly done, obsidian curls and waves making them look like they had just stepped out of an american magazine. Younghyun didn’t really understand the craze going on around western fashion this year, but he guessed it wasn’t so bad either. Nothing could be worse than the old rag of a dress his mother was wearing before he left for the war, and was probably still wearing now. Younghyun stared at one of the girls’ necklace, shining like it was made of melted stars and gold. Someday, his mother would have one of those too, even if it was the last thing he’d be able to achieve.  
Unconsciously, his attention started to drift away from the center of the room, turning to the few people conversing against its walls. The bar was a spacious one, and the drink station was on a higher level than the dance floor and the dining tables, which allowed him to take a good look at everything.  
No one seemed to be standing out here either, the partygoers crowd mostly made of young veterans welcomed for the occasion, and bourgeoisie kids.

  
The last notes of the bubbly song that had been playing died down as Younghyun told himself he would get up and make a move when the next one would end.  
He watched, attentively, as a man turned the old jukebox off, surprising him. He realized that another middle-aged man had sat down in front of the wooden piano next to the machine, and that the couples were already getting ready to slow dance together, used to the switch. When the piece started, without much transition, Younghyun felt a little less uncomfortable, because the piano seemed to quiet the crowd down, a sudden and refreshing downpour of peace. The old pianist wasn’t anything special, but he was skilled for sure.

As Younghyun looked at him, basking in the comfortable atmosphere, he noticed another young man who seemed to be as mesmerized as he was by the piano’s melody. He was standing next to the instrument, at a respectful distance, his arms crossed and his mouth hanging open, making Younghyun chuckle a little before he realized he had probably been mirroring that expression a few seconds earlier.  
The young man wasn’t very tall, and had a slender build; he looked like the boys that hadn’t lasted very long on the battlefield, except he was dressed from head to toes in clothes that seemed to be more expensive than anything Younghyun could have ever owned in his short life. As soon as he noticed that, the man seemed way less interesting.

Even so, those clothes were still the nicest ones he had seen anyone wearing since he had entered the bar; the man looked like he should have been the life of the party, not some daydreamer standing on the sidelines, listening to an unknown man’s piano.  
Someone else must have had been thinking the same as Younghyun was, because a girl dressed in silver came up to him, probably to ask him to dance with her. Younghyun turned his attention back to the boy; the latter seemed indecisive, looking back and forth between the piano and the girl in front of him. In the end, with what seemed like a forced smile, he took her hand.

They made themselves a way to the center, and started slow dancing, her head on his shoulder and his eyes still looking at the piano. What a curious pair, Younghyun thought, still playing with his borrowed glass. All the ice cubes that were inside it had melted away already, just like the song playing which wasn’t going to take more than a few seconds to end, now.  
The young veteran got up and looked down to stare at his clothes: his uniform couldn’t be cleaner and he had even taken the time to rub his simili-leather boots clean of any dirt staining them. It wasn’t getting any better than this anyways. He decided to look at the crowd one last time before he got down from the platform to find someone who’d be willing to give him a job or introduce him to someone who would: strangely enough, he couldn’t spot the couple he had been looking at earlier. After a few seconds, Younghyun recognized the girl who had been wearing that splendid silver dress, standing with a few friends, but the man she had been with had disappeared. Younghyun squinted. The song had ended just shy of a minute ago, the pianist hadn’t even gotten up yet; how had the daydreamer run away so fast?

‘Um, sorry.’

Startled by the sudden noise, the veteran’s reflexes kicked in and he immediately put his hand in his uniform’s pocket, looking for the knife he always stored there, his fingers closing in on emptiness. When he remembered the knife wasn’t in his pocket anymore because this wasn’t the North, and the war had ended, his head started spinning, like it always did when he woke up from nightmares. It took him a few seconds to stop his sudden dizziness, forcing him to sit back on his stool.

“Oh my god, are you okay? I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to surprise you, I was just trying to sit but you were standing there, and- sir? Should I call someone?”

“No. No. It’s okay.” Younghyun managed to mutter. His head was only lightly hurting, but he couldn’t believe how ridiculously weak he was. He lifted his head to look at the person who had been profusely apologizing for the past minute. Fate had always liked playing with him: it was the boy he had been looking at earlier. Before the latter had the chance to say anything more, Younghyun ended the little incident. “It’s really okay, don’t worry about it.” After all, how could have the city boy known about his nonsensical disposition? It wasn’t his fault Younghyun was so easily startled it was pathetic these days.

The young man bowed one last time, a guilty expression still painted on his face. He had only lightly bumped into him, but he looked as mortified as if he had purposely kicked Younghyun’s stool. Was the military uniform weirdly making the veteran seem frailer than he was? How ironic.

Younghyun silently watched as the newcomer ordered his drinks in a quiet voice and waited for the bartender to get him what he had asked for. Now that he could take a closer look, Younghyun noticed that the man wasn’t only wearing a high end suit that looked brand new, he was also sporting a silver watch, shining around his wrist. The veteran stopped watching before he got caught, which would probably have made it awkward for the two of them.  
A few seconds went by, Younghyun thinking about what he’d be doing next. Of course, trying his luck out with this stranger was an option, but he couldn’t help but feel like the man was a way too big catch for him.  
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a bottle and a glass being set down on the wooden surface.

“Sir, would you mind if we shared this bottle? I might have ordered too much for my own good.”

Younghyun considered it for a moment. Liquid courage wouldn’t do him any bad, after all. But for some reason, something about someone else paying for him made him a little iffy.

“Please, I insist. I would hate for it to go to waste just because I’m a lightweight,” said the other man when he noticed his indecision.

Oh well, his morals would just have to suck it up. Younghyun had been abstaining from alcohol for way too long, so he nodded politely, and a bright smile appeared on the other man’s face before he scouted closer to him and asked the bartender to bring over another glass.

“Thanks for the offer.”

“Ah, no, I’m the one thanking you for giving me the chance to take the incident from earlier off my conscience.” He said, once they were sitting side to side. “I’m Kim Wonpil by the way, nice to meet you!”

“Kang Younghyun,” the veteran answered, shaking his hand. Wonpil had a firm grip, but soft hands. “Is that still bothering you? I meant it when I said it’s fine.” He paused, watching as the man politely poured him a glass of liquor. “This being said, if this is what I get for being shoved around, I should do it more often.”

“Please don’t,” his interlocutor laughed, setting the bottle down. “I’m not sure I’d be able to afford that. Any particular reasons for spending your evening here?” He asked, probably to keep the small talk going.

“I was just roaming around the neighbourhood and heard loud music come from this place. Thought I’d check it out,” blatantly lied Younghyun. “You?”

“I heard that the most animated place in town would be this bar tonight and I had time to spare so I figured coming here would be better than staying home.” Wonpil turned around, leaning against the bar and looking at the crowd, unknowingly mimicking what Younghyun had been doing before he got here.

“Well it sure doesn’t have a lot of competition,” the veteran said. “This is the only part of Gangnam I’ve seen that’s still rich enough to afford drinks and fancy clothes.”

“Thank God, we were lucky enough to be spared during the invasion,” calmly answered Wonpil, with the tone of someone who had been spoonfed this version of the story for a long time. Younghyun laughed a bit bitterly. If this ordeal had been about luck, he knew a few people whose lives would have taken a different path.

“Did I say something wrong?”

Younghyun looked up from his glass; that chuckle he had let out had probably seemed out of place, alarming Wonpil.

“I just thought about those who died because they weren’t lucky enough.” He said without thinking first, his tone stripped of any emotion while the words it carried were still terribly heavy. His sudden comment seemed to create a light chill between the two men. Younghyun raised a brow when he noticed that Wonpil had a weird expression on his face, his eyes looking down at the wooden flooring. Was that guilt? Shame?

“Hey, don’t worry about that. Every war needs survivors.” Younghyun heard himself saying, although a voice, somewhere in the back of his benumbed mind, was still screaming and wailing at the unfairness of it all, impossible to silence.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” muttered Wonpil. “They died for peace,” he paused as he looked around. “I- Sometimes I feel like I should have, too.”

The last words were merely a whisper, but Younghyun still managed to catch the confession. Unconsciously, he scoffed a little. It indeed had been a flash of guilt he had seen on the young man’s handsome face. Well, at least he had the decency to feel it. Not like it could change anything, now that it had all ended.

(Now that Younghyun was all alone.)

“Don’t let that weigh you down too much. Having regrets won’t bring anyone back,” he said, looking at Wonpil.

“Having none at all will result in oblivion, and eventually history will repeat itself,” the young man answered. “Haven’t we all been created equally? I should have been on that battlefield, too.” He continued, unknowingly sounding every bit like a textbook.

“You should just consider yourself lucky you had a way out of that hell when the time came, Wonpil. Some of us would have done anything to be exempted from it like you were, so don’t spit on it.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m a bit puzzled by what you’re saying. Would it have been better to let everyone flee and watch as our nation was being burned to the ground?” The young man asked, genuinely clueless but still refusing to let go. “Shouldn’t we all have been fighting the enemy off our territory?’

“All I’m saying is maybe if the high society stopped using us as pawns, no one would have had to die because the war would have never started to begin with.” His answer was short, laced with indifference and at this point Younghyun would have completely ignored any rebuttal coming up next. He looked down, and glared at his trembling hands with bated breath. It had only been a few days since he’d been in Seoul, but he had already grown way too tired of this topic coming up as soon as people noticed the way he was dressed.  
Wonpil stayed silent for a moment, taking a sip from his drink.

“I really can’t deny that,” he ended up saying.

“Glad we agree. Now I hope you don’t mind but I’m going to need to down this drink.”

And Wonpil probably didn’t, because as soon as Younghyun set his empty glass back on the table, enjoying the numbing and familiar sensation of the burn it caused, the young man immediately poured him more of the amber fluid. One quick glance at the man’s own glass let Younghyun know that he had also refilled one for himself.

“Now, I like where this is going.”

“So do I. I needed a way to take my mind off of some things and you’re pretty good at it.” Wonpil said, making Younghyun shoot him a confused look.

“What do you mean? We’ve been talking to each other for no more than ten minutes,” he asked, curious.

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s something about talking to someone who looks like they’ve went through three more lifetimes than I have?”

“Me?”

“Who else?”

“I see.” The veteran paused. “You’re mistaken though, what happened up there could never be called living, y’know. Maybe I did die three more times than you ever will.”

Wonpil shook his head, looking at him for a short moment, Younghyun’s eyes meeting him halfway.

“I won’t lie, just looking at you does make me feel like we belong in different centuries.” He said after a while, making Younghyun snort.

“Are you saying I look old, Wonpil-ssi?” he asked, hints of amusement on the corners of his lips. That really wouldn’t have been surprising, the veteran knew how terrible his outward aspect was these days, mostly because of the bandage wrapped around his entire arm that made him look too sickly and the dark eyebags he sported, carved into his skin by sleepless nights.

“Oh, no, actually I don’t think so,” Wonpil said. “I’d give you one or two years more than me! But your clothes do look like they’ve been worn by an entire regiment.”

Younghyun chuckled. “One or two years? You look like you’re barely of age.”

“How old are you, then?”

“I’m,” he paused for a second. “I was born in 1934.” It had taken him a bit too long for it to be natural, but if Wonpil noticed that Younghyun had forgotten his age for a moment, simply because he had no idea just how long the time he had spent up There had been (it could have been weeks, it could have been a few years; it had felt like a lifetime), he didn’t say anything about it.

“Hah. One year later. I win,” Wonpil said triumphantly, lifting his glass with a smile. The older man looked at it for a second, before lifting his own with a laugh of disbelief and bumping them together to make a soft ‘clink’ ring.

A few more glasses later, and both of them were laughing way more heartily over silly things. Wonpil hadn’t lied when he had warned him that he was a lightweight, but Younghyun didn’t mind, because the young man was a pleasant drunk, alcohol only making him giggle and move around more. Younghyun too could feel himself getting more sluggish and talkative but he actually liked being able to talk freely and discuss things that held no importance with someone he barely knew, so whenever Wonpil asked him if he wanted more whiskey, he nodded in a heartbeat. They rambled on about a lot of things, their topics varying from the government and their terrible decisions to today’s weather, from Younghyun’s chronic headaches, to Wonpil’s hatred of horseback riding and how pointless he thought the so-called sport was.  
As soon as they ran out of things to complain about on a topic, one of them would bring another one right up and the conversation would start again, just as animated and wild as it was before, if not more. It was a loud clash and crash of opinions, of ideas that either completed each other or collided with one another to create a whole new perspective on the matter at hand. It was a refreshing way to change Younghyun’s mind, reminding him that he, like anyone else, was a functional human being that wasn’t only here on earth to carry the weight of the war and the dead’s fleeting dreams.

In the end, although time never managed to wear out their chat, the people around them did by leaving the party too fast. Actually, maybe the rest of them had left at ungodly hours too, but Younghyun couldn’t help but feel like the party had just started, time passing by too fast because he had actually been enjoying himself for once. The bartender did leave the eerie pair to their animated debates for as long as he could, but the place had to close down at some point and they were politely escorted out of the vicinity.

Outside, although spring had already started, the night was chilly; but neither of the men really cared. It wasn’t like Younghyun didn’t feel the cold wind hitting him in the back of his neck, or like Wonpil wasn’t shivering in his cold suit, but focusing on weather conditions was rather hard to do when their conversation constantly kept them fired up. That night, like any other night of April in Seoul, the streets were quiet. It was a strange sight for Younghyun; Goyang used to be so loud at night, bustling with life because of the young students gadding about in the town in search for anything interesting they could waste their youth on, a rush of adrenaline. But that had been before the calamity, before the essence of youth itself had been drained right out of their hearts. Maybe Goyang’s streets were making unavoidable nothingness ring in the city’s inhabitants’ ears too, these days, who knew.

“Hey. Younghyun-ssi. Have you ever been in love before?”

The words were lazily pronounced, breaking the short silence that had started to settle in because of some strange form of respect for the ephemeral stillness the men had walked in.

“Not really.”

“Then, did anyone ever love you?”

“Maybe. I was confessed to a few times when I was younger and had time to mess around,” he replied. The shaking hands, flushed cheeks and nervous words had never really meant anything more than a compliment to him, and he had never questioned it. He had never had enough time for those things anyways. “I’ll admit it was flattering at first, but at some point love became such a strong word it scared me.”

“It’s the- the same for me,” Wonpil answered, having a little difficulty finding the right words because of his cloudy thoughts. “Actually, maybe not exactly. When I was younger, I was told I was loved a lot, but it never felt like any of the people who said it were telling the truth,” he tried to explain, moving his hands around in a sign that seemed to figuratively separate truth and lies. “It got to the point where I just can’t seem to give any importance to what people call love anymore, and sometimes I wonder if I ever was capable of that.”

“Capable of loving someone? I’ve always just assumed that it was a vital need.”

“I mean, I know what it feels like to love platonically, I have friends that I hold close to my heart! But I’ve never felt the love that people write songs and hundreds of books about, you know. It just all feels like some gigantic lie,” Wonpil added. “No matter how many women I tried to love and pursue relationships with, I never managed to move on past profound friendships. I’m probably dysfunctional. I don’t even know why I’m babbling about these things.”

“I’d bet my entire leg you’re not the only one out here feeling like that. No one needs love anyways, the only vital things you gotta have to be happy are a cozy bed to go back to, friends you can count on and a sturdy way to get money.” Everything I’m missing, Younghyun thought, but kept silent.

“This is going to sound ridiculous, but you said bed and I suddenly remembered that I was tired,” Wonpil said, yawning. “I think I could sit down and sleep right here,” he muttered, and he probably could truly have, considering the fact that it was around four AM.

“I think now’s the time we leave for our respective beds, then. I’m too poor to be robbed right now.”

Younghyun could feel his head start to pound, and an increasing difficulty to stay on the sidewalk as they strolled around. If there ever was a time for going home, it had been long overdue. He gently shook Wonpil who seemed to have lost himself in his own thoughts.

“Wonpil-ssi. Let’s go home.”

“Already?”

“I’m so drunk I’m almost starting to feel like I’m sober.”

“Oh, then you should… definitely go. I will, too,” Wonpil slurred. He was starting to crash down from the rush of alcohol too. “Which way is my house?”

Younghyun had no clue, but the young man was definitely part of the rich side of the town, so the veteran vaguely gave him directions to get to the beautiful neighbourhoods he had seen the first time he’d wandered around the city, which Wonpil was really thankful for, thanking him endlessly.

“Then I’m off. Please go home safely, and thank you for tonight, it was really fun!”

“I enjoyed myself too, thanks to you.”

“Eh, mostly thanks to the alcohol, probably,” Wonpil laughed. He paused for a few seconds and Younghyun watched him as he gathered his words carefully, his lips pressed together. “I really hope you find what you’re looking for, Younghyun-ssi,” he said, taking a few wobbly steps forward to rest his hand on the veteran’s shoulder; the one that hadn’t been injured. “You’re a good man.”

“I hope you find your own way to be happy, then, Wonpil-ssi.” Younghyun said in return, with no hesitation because he meant it. The man’s opinions had sometimes seemed a little superficial and he had many things to learn about the world, and himself, but this was what youth was all about anyways. He deserved to find his solace in this harsh world, and Younghyun hoped he would do so without losing the spark he had in his eyes.

“So do I.” Wonpil smiled.

As he watched the young and radiant man walk away, humming a song he didn’t know, Younghyun wondered if their paths would ever cross again. When Wonpil disappeared from his sight, he turned away and went on his own way to look for the inn he was staying at, walking alone in the soft embrace of his thoughts and the quiet night.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Three hours later, he rolled down his bed, groaning in pain and covering his ears to avoid the awful creaks of the mattress’ rusty springs.  
After he spent a moment on the floor, Younghyun slowly looked up at the ceiling, staring at it as it spinned around for a few seconds. Was he even sober yet?

Outside, an irritating sun had taken the crescent moon’s place, waking the city up and making people pour into its streets. Younghyun could guess he had woken up before nine o’clock because the elderly woman who lived in front of his room hadn’t taken her laundry out to hang it and let it dry yet, like she did every morning at that precise hour of the day. He stretched, leaning against the sturdy bed, a sigh slipping past his lips. The early bird always catches the worm, and he clearly wasn’t getting any, this morning.

The young man got up, heading painfully slowly towards his door. He had two options: he could either spend his day feeling like he hadn’t bathed in eight weeks, or he could head downstairs and visit the bath house the rented rooms were next to; Younghyun had a lot of flaws, but laziness wasn’t one of them, so he locked his door and walked down the stairs, steadying himself by keeping his hand on the metallic ramp set on the wall. Living next to a bath house was already a luxury he had to pay for anyways, and even back at home the only way Younghyun could get a bath was walking to the jjimjilbang down the street that the entire neighbourhood shared.

 

“One male entry? Five thousand wons, please.”

  
When Younghyun got to his destination, the young man realized with joy that the place was desert, save for a few men rinsing themselves or relaxing in the bathtub. It was usually packed in the early morning, but at this hour, only the jobless and the elders occupied the jjimjilbang. Younghyun hoped he’d be able to stop being part of these people soon, living each day on the thin line that separated the middle class from the homeless.

The veteran paid, using one of the last wrinkly bills he owned, then thanked the bath’s young manager before he went looking for a box where he could drop his belongings off. Younghyun got rid of the uniform he was still wearing and carefully folded it, placing it high up on a shelf at disposal for the guests. Automatically, he first rinsed himself to get rid of the layer of dust and sweat he had heaped during the night, before he rested his tired body in the warm water of the public bath. Then, he closed his eyes and started thinking about what he’d be doing next. When his memory unintentionally bumped into last night’s events, he started rubbing his eyes and groaned yet again.

He couldn’t afford to waste any time in this merciless city, as he was already living on borrowed time, and yet he had spent the last chance he had to get a decent job on a heart-to-heart talk with a stranger whose name he could barely remember now and from whom he’d probably never hear of again. The worst thing about it all was that yesterday hadn’t even been the first time Younghyun had tried his luck out in a post-war celebration party where he knew he could easily blend in with the rest of the soldiers; but each time, he had backed down, feeling like he couldn’t possibly act like he was confident in front of these people. Now that the last of the celebrations had went by fruitlessly, Younghyun found himself in a terribly frail situation: the little amount of money his mother had managed to give to him would soon run out, and then he’d be out in the streets. Getting to Seoul had already been hard enough on him and his mother, so if he lost to the city now, he’d never be able to forgive himself.

Younghyun watched the hot bath’s water vapour dissipate into thin air as he pursed his lips. The only thing he could do now was getting a job, and he couldn’t be picky about it anymore. He’d work where he could, even if it tired him to death.  
The young man slowly got up and a few minutes later, he was dressed again, ready to face the day. He was still wearing his uniform’s khaki pants and his good old boots but, because of the warm weather, he had left his blazer inside his room, only keeping the dress shirt on. Even if the clothes could have been cleaner, he felt fresh and crisp, his black hair no longer a tangled mess; it was time to go job hunting.

When Younghyun stepped outside, just like every morning, he felt like he had entered a whole new world, the streets full of people rushing to the places they had to be at; this time, instead of following the flow of young and well-dressed people that were always indicators of the location of Seoul’s next party, he looked for older citizens on their way to work. Younghyun let his eyes slip past the men wearing suits because he knew he had no chance to get hired in any kind of shop: he had dropped out of school way too many years ago and Segok-dong’s stores were already struggling to afford the small number of clerks they already had on their payrolls. Instead, he purposely singled out those who wore sullied shirts and construction hats, those with hands that were as calloused as his had always been. Most of them were heading towards a part of Gangnam-gu that, according to the rumors Younghyun had heard, had been especially targeted because it had been sheltering rebels during the Chinese invasion. It seemed logical that the buildings in that district would need major repairs, when he thought about it as he followed the laborers to their workplaces.

The crumbling down area was a sight to behold; it was a mess of beaten down concrete blocks that had once been walls or roofs, broken glass, a few houses still barely standing, and dust travelling freely in the air. Moving carefully in the midst of the ruins were people that would most likely dedicate their whole lives to the creation of a future for their children, both by building the city up again from scratch and by earning as much money as this harsh livelihood could offer.

Younghyun watched with fascination as, soon enough, the mass started to divide once again, all of the builders heading to different areas they had been assigned to. He decided he’d try to methodically offer his help in all of the sites, and that he’d settle on the first offer he’d find. He really didn’t have a single won to waste anymore.  
When he approached the first settlement, it was easy enough to spot its foreman, giving orders left and right to keep everyone going. The old man had soft facial features but a body that immediately gave away how strong he was, his clothes full of paint stains and his shoes completely covered with dirt.  
Younghyun waited politely until he had enough time, then he approached him; he couldn’t help but notice that the weird feeling that had stopped him from talking to anyone in the parties seemed to have vanished. Once he had quickly introduced himself and had asked the foreman if he had any work for him, the latter looked a bit conflicted.

“Listen here, son, I’m sorry but the place is packed and the boss is already planning to fire some of us,” he explained, his deep voice sounding a bit bitter.

“I see,” Younghyun said He bowed anyways. “Thank you for your time, sir.”

“Ah, wait. Younghyun, right?” The foreman asked before the veteran had enough time to walk away. He scratched the back of his neck thoughtfully, then looked at him again. “You should check out the rice plantation on the town’s Southern suburb. They need help over there but everyone’s focusing on the jobs inside the city, so they’ll pay you well.”

Younghyun thought about it for a moment. In Gangnam-gu, plantation fields had almost completely been eradicated, replaced by fuming and loud factories, but rice production was still needed so he knew some plantations still existed on the district’s outskirts, most likely not very far from the area where he lived. It wouldn’t hurt to go see if he could be useful there.

“I will, thank you for your advice, sir.”

“Thank you for your service,” the elder replied with a smile and compassion in his eyes. “You’re so young, you remind me of my son. Be careful out there.”

  
A long and tiring walk later and the veteran saw Segok-dong’s buildings get progressively more modest until he was surrounded by shacks and the sidewalks were no longer paved; the ambient noise also felt a little less intoxicating in this area. It didn’t take him long to find the rice fields: they were occupying a rather decently vast chunk of the land, but it was obvious that in the past they used to be much larger. As he was looking at the landscape before his eyes, hands in his pockets and a light breeze ruffling his hair, a woman came up to him, surprising him a little when she greeted him; fortunately, she hadn’t tried to lay a hand on his shoulder to get his attention which would have immediately revealed his tendency to go through unnecessary panic episodes and could have potentially cost him the job.

“Hello there! What are you doing out here?” The woman asked, a wrinkly smile on her face. She was carrying a large bag of what seemed to be rice, without much difficulty; Younghyun bowed in respect to salute her, gave her his name then offered to help carrying the bag. She declined with a quick wave of her hand.

“I’ve been looking for a job, and I was told that this plantation was searching for people to hire. Are you the owner?”

“I am, and we definitely are in need of a new strong pair of hands,” the woman replied, nodding. “I’m sure old Jung was the one who decided to send you our way, I’ll have to treat him to a meal, someday,” she chuckled. “Follow me, child.”

She led him to a little warehouse, not far from the field, telling him about all the details he needed to know as they were walking. Younghyun first learned that Ms. Ha was a widow, and that her only daughter was back in Daegu, living with her grandparents. The rice plantation had used to be her husband’s, but after his demise, she had taken it upon herself to keep its production going although the prices at which their rice was sold had become ridiculously insignificant.  
After the war, Ms. Ha had lost one of her workers, a young man who used to be the one delivering the sacks to a big factory inside the town, their biggest client; the widow had had to rely on the help from various neighbours and even tried to take care of the deliveries herself, but it was seriously starting to affect the plantation’s reputation. Losing a big client like the factory would have been immediate death for the plantation, so Ms. Ha had decided that hiring help was the only solution she had. That was where Younghyun came into play.

The veteran self-consciously brushed the silver dog tags he still wore out of habit with his fingertips. He wondered about the man he was going to replace, the college student who had been working at the plantation to feed himself. Maybe that guy, unlike himself, had actually been planning a future he’d been working for. Younghyun discreetly put the dogtags back under his dress shirt’s collar. Sometimes he felt guilty about leading such a meaningless life.

 

On his way back home, Younghyun luckily had been lended an old and rusty bicycle, creaking with each meter it carried him over. Ms. Ha had taken in out of the warehouse with a big smile, telling him that the bike had probably been missing the outside’s fresh air; Younghyun secretly felt relieved he wouldn’t have to walk to the fields every morning, the trip having taken a couple of hours this morning already. The sun was starting to set, muted shades melting into the sky's endless blue sea.  
As he was crossing a road, only a few minutes away from the city now, he let out a long sigh, realizing that a new life was starting for him tomorrow. He wondered what the next day had in store for him, knowing that he had just dived in what would probably be his routine for the next years to come.

 

Somewhere on the other side of the district, a young man in a quiet neighbourhood put down a textbook, unknowingly mirroring Younghyun’s sigh.

 

 


	2. the first spring - i'm feeling heavy and i can't explain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fate was kind enough to make them meet again.

_May 13, 1954. Seoul, Gangnam-gu. Apgujeong-dong._

 

“Are you crazy? Wanna get yourself killed?”

 

“Sorry, sir!”

 

Shooting an apologetic look to the man who had been driving his bicycle down the road when Wonpil had quite literally thrown himself in his way, the young man kept running as he crossed the road. He spared a quick second to glance at the watch on his wrist and winced when he saw that he had five minutes to get to his politics class. Finally landing on the other side’s sidewalk, Wonpil wildly waved his hands at a bus that was coming from a few meters away. Luckily, although he had almost been tragically ran over by a bike, the student had managed to be fast enough not to have to wait for the next vehicle.

 

The day wasn’t starting off so bad for him, Wonpil thought as he boarded the bus that would take him to Segok-dong, its roaring engine immediately taking over the various noises coming from the streets. The young man turned to look at the bus’ passengers, vaguely noticing that there weren’t as many of them as usual; he sat down on one of the seats at the front, a relieved smile settling on his lips. Now he only had to wait, and even if he got to his professor’s home a few minutes late, he’d be able to blame the bus for taking too long.

As the machine’s engine roared back to life again, all of its passengers having boarded, Wonpil placed the satchel he always carried with him on his knees, opening the leather bag up to look for a novel he had safely stored inside, in one of the many pockets. With an ease that came with the impressive amount of times he’d done this exact move, Wonpil flipped the book open with his right hand and put his satchel back on the floor with his left, pinning it against the wall with one of his legs.

 

The young man hummed happily as he started reading, plunging himself back in Yi Kwangsu’s fascinating work, _Heartlessness_. It was a novel that been frowned upon by many, before people started to realize that the story depicted in it was only a cover for something much deeper than a love triangle; and Wonpil had been so speechless when he’d realized that what he’d been reading about was a metaphor for Korea’s struggles with national identity, he had put down the copy he had borrowed from his father to go buy himself his own. That had been a few months ago, but the young man was still on his second read, making the pleasure of reading the story last for as long as possible.

 

 _Heartlessness_ was about a young teacher, and the choice he had to make between two women, one being a wealthy lady raised in a western school, and the second one being the perfect epitome of Korea’s traditions, who also happened to be a gifted musician. Sometimes Wonpil wondered why this story struck his heart so deeply. The author’s way of writing was of course, fascinating, and the metaphor lying underneath had also made the book as a whole extremely enjoyable; but something else made Wonpil love the work rather than like it. Maybe it was because the main character reminded him of himself, in some ways.

Wonpil could have talked about Kwangsu’s novel for hours and hours. Sadly, his father disliked the writer’s works and his mother had no interest in books. His friends, too, were too busy to spare as much time for reading as he did. _Heartlessness_ had ended up being his own little gold mine, a secret he would have gladly shared had anyone asked him about it.

 

“Here they go again. Always getting themselves in trouble.”

 

“I wonder who their parents are… Imagine having to see your son come home dirty and bruised like that everyday!”

 

Wonpil lowered his book, distracted by the hushed conversation he had heard without meaning to. It had come from two women sitting together behind him, and they were still animatedly talking together. Intrigued, the young man looked around, scanning the streets in search for the troublemakers; the bus had come to a stop, waiting for a few people to cross from one sidewalk to another, so it was an easy task to spot the two young teens eyeing each other scornfully and throwing insults at one another. The calm before the storm.

The scene had attracted a handful of passersby, but the quarrel’s public was mostly made of kids that looked even younger than the two instigators. Wonpil couldn’t believe no one was trying to stop the fight from beginning, all the adults around them walking by like nothing was happening. He pondered a moment about jumping in, but he was already too late to afford the distraction.

As the bus started up again and Wonpil was about to turn his eyes away from the street, his eyes stumbled upon a distant figure, a tall man who seemed to be pulling a metallic cart on which were balanced a quantity of sacks filled to the brim; however it wasn’t the cart that made Wonpil gasp in recognition, but rather the man’s face, for it was one that he had seen before and whose’ owner he had thought about a lot since their last meeting. Their eyes met briefly, brown fox-like eyes meeting a darker shade of the same color, but the bus had already taken off, the ladies sitting behind Wonpil sighing in relief now that they didn’t have to listen to the whippersnappers throwing verbal jabs at each other anymore.

 

Now, a lot of people in this situation would have sighed, and opened the novel they had been reading to continue doing just that; but Wonpil had always hated having regrets from the bottom of his heart.

With a huff, he grabbed his satchel and hurriedly shoved his book inside it before he quite literally ran up to the bus’ driver. Of course, the poor man was reticent at first; but Wonpil pleaded, and begged, and threatened to get down from the bus as it was still running, so in the end, he gave up the fight and barked at the young man that if he didn’t get down in the next three seconds he’d glue him to one of the seats. Wonpil laughed heartily, gave the driver more bills than his fare should have costed, then got down when the door opened. The whole ordeal hadn’t taken long, so he only had a few meters to run, his bag hitting him in the sides a bit painfully.

 

He really didn’t want to miss this opportunity. The man he had just managed to take a glimpse at had been in the back of his mind for a few weeks now, in the form of a good memory because the conversation they had shared had been the most pleasing one Wonpil had had with anyone in a while. This one particular memory also bore the bitter undertones of regrets, because Wonpil had been convinced that the two of them could have been great friends, and yet his drunk self had let the other man go without asking him anything about the place where he resided; truthfully, it had been because they had more interesting topics to discuss, but Wonpil had almost felt like meeting the man and then never seeing him again was one of those fated once-in-a-lifetime occurrences he had read about.

 

The young man slowed down, a bit breathless. He looked around once he had reached the street the bus had been crossing a few moments earlier. The man he was looking for couldn’t have gone too far, right? He had been walking at a slow pace because of the weight he was pulling, so Wonpil stayed in the main street, scanning the crowd. After a few seconds of concentration, the young man let a laugh of relief slip past his lips.

 

There he was.

  


 

 

 

The cart’s feeble wheels kept on clattering pitifully under the weight of the mountain of rice sacks. Younghyun looked back yet again and took a good look at the pile, making sure that he had dropped none of them. Once he had made sure that he wasn’t missing one, the young man went back to his tedious walk.

Looking at the sky, he knew that the day had just begun for most of the people walking down the same street as him. He had been awake for a while though, rising before the sun itself to make sure the delivery would be taken care of before the afternoon came. Younghyun bowed politely at a woman who had gotten herself out of his way, offering him a smile he didn’t force himself to return.

 

As he walked on his usual path, carefully avoiding little kids running around without paying much attention in front of a little school, the veteran silently thought about the amount of money he had managed to save up this past month. It wasn’t much, but it was something, and Younghyun felt a little bit of pride as he realized that he had managed to put enough money on the side to send some to his mother. Of course he would have to wait for his monthly pay before he could risk doing anything, but Ms. Ha would take care of that at the end of the day. For once in his life, Younghyun felt like he could finally see the light at the end of the tunnel, and the feeling was so gratifying, it came with some sort of surprise.

 

Younghyun felt a pebble lodge itself in his boots, but he let it be, absentmindedly deciding that he’d get rid of it once he wouldn’t have fifty thousands wons worth of rice to worry about with him anymore. He was already in the city anyways, it wouldn’t take him too long.

 

“Watch out!”

 

Younghyun did a double-take, unconsciously tightening his hands around the cart’s handle; the street had been peaceful just a second ago and it was too early for this, but two young boys suddenly came out of an obscure alley, one of them with a fist clenched around the collar of the shirt the other boy was wearing. The warning had come from a shopkeeper, the old woman notifying no one in particular like she was used to the troublemakers fighting in front of her store. At the sight of the clenched firsts and the scornful looks the two boys were giving each other, Younghyun felt himself unconsciously tense up. He carefully bypassed the two of them, keeping a distance between his source of income and the two boiling young teenagers.

  


Once he was safe, a few meters away, the young man felt a sigh build up inside him, but he refused to let it go, because he felt like he’d see all his strength fly away with it otherwise. The cart was starting to get heavier by the second, and his wound wasn’t making things easier, so he slowed down for a little while, holding the handle with one hand to move the second one around, getting rid of the numbness. As he was doing so, repeating the moves with his left hand, Younghyun hesitantly looked back at the two boys he had passed by a moment ago. The tension had escalated, the shorter looking boy of the pair having been pinned against a wall by the other one, still threatening him.

Younghyun felt himself breathe with a little more difficulty, so he quickly turned around and shook his head, walking faster. It was a street fight between two children, why was he reacting like this? It had never happened before, why now? With a wince, the young man forced himself to take deep breaths; the only thing he needed right now was getting this delivery over with and the rewarding break that would ensue, so he couldn’t stop. And he really didn’t plan to, until an unexpected thing happened.

 

“Younghyun-ssi! Wait up, why are you walking this fast!”

 

Surprised by the sudden use of his name, the veteran stopped in his tracks and turned around; his eyes widened at the sight of a man running up to him, a storm made of disheveled hair and impetuousness. Younghyun only let out a ‘oh’ in recognition when the newcomer stopped in front of him, out of breath but smiling.

 

“Are you okay? What’s happening?”

 

“I haven’t ran this fast in ages but I’m so glad I managed to catch up to you!” The man said, cheerfully. “Do you remember me?”

 

“You’re that guy from the bar,” Younghyun said, nodding.

 

“What do you mean ‘that guy from the bar,’ we could probably be best friends at this point,” the other man said, feigning shock. “Or are you one of those people who conveniently forget everything once they sober up?”

 

“Well, right now I do remember that I’m going to be late for this delivery if I stand here doing nothing any longer.” Younghyun replied, as he picked up his pace again, silently thankful because the distraction had managed to calm him down. “You can follow me if you have something you want to say, though.”

 

“You know, people usually greet each other at this point,” the other man said, following him anyways. Younghyun opened his mouth to tell him that people also usually had _time_ but he suddenly found himself forced to stop walking, a leather bag hurriedly dropped next to his feet. When the veteran looked back up in confusion, the man was already walking away.

 

“I’m coming back, please wait just a little!”

 

And before Younghyun could reply, the man had ran away in the opposite direction.

 

Were all city boys like this? The veteran was bewildered, but he bent down to pick up the satchel that had been entrusted to him, tying its leather strap around the cart’s handle. He’d keep it safe in the meantime, since he couldn’t really leave it lying on the ground, but that didn’t mean that he was going to wait around for its owner.

  
  


When Younghyun came out of the imposing factory,a relieved smile on his face and nothing to pull around anymore, he was greeted with a loud ‘hey!’ from across the street. One less thing to worry about, he smiled, waving around the satchel he had been carrying as the man from earlier crossed the street. Younghyun had managed to remember his name along the way, and it felt satisfying to finally put a label on the familiar face, although he didn’t remember much of their drunken ramblings.

 

“You actually found me.”

 

“Well, you had my bag, I had no choice!”

 

“I did tell you that I was short on time. I really couldn’t afford to wait.”

 

“I didn’t think you’d actually disappear on me,” Wonpil complained, bowing anyways when he retrieved his bag.

 

“I’m sorry. At least I didn’t leave it there?” Younghyun replied, a bit guilty. He still wondered what the man had been so eager to tell him, but the question he was about to ask faded away from his mind when he noticed that Wonpil’s lower lip was split, lightly bleeding. “Wait, how did you manage to get hurt in this short of a time span? Are you alright?”

 

Wonpil laughed, then immediately regretted it because his wound was still fresh; he let out a hiss instead.

 

“Kids are scary, these days,” he said, sheepishly. Younghyun stayed quiet for a moment, realizing that Wonpil had dashed away to stop the fight he had avoided. Wonpil had probably jumped in without much of a plan, according to his bruises.

Something about seeing the frail man standing in front of him without a fear and nursing a split lip made Younghyun feel ashamed, but he quickly pushed those thoughts away.

 

“Do you want to, I don’t know, clean that up?” He asked instead, vaguely pointing towards Wonpil’s face.

 

“It’s alright, I probably won’t die from it.”

 

“You never know. Can you guess what’s scarier than kids? Infections.”

 

“I’m going to need a little bit more convincing on this one,” Wonpil chuckled. His messenger bag was now slung over his shoulder, where it belonged.

 

“We can do that while you get rid of that blood. Well, if you want to,” Younghyun corrected himself. “I mean, I don’t have anything with me right now but the room I’m renting isn’t far from here.”

There, securely stored in a pristine white box, was a first aid kit that he had gotten from the hospital to help him deal with the wound on his left arm.

Wonpil seemed conflicted, looking down for a second as if to consider his options. He glanced at his watch, and whistled, impressed.

 

“I’m way too late now anyways, I guess I don’t have anything to lose. I’ll take you up on that offer,” he grinned at Younghyun, the latter hesitantly smiling back, a bit overwhelmed by the enthusiasm oozing from the man.

  


Drunk or sober, he was pleasant to talk to, Younghyun realized as they walked the little distance that stood between them and his street. At first, he remembered himself assuming that Wonpil would be a man of very few words; the way he carried himself and his poised manners had just seemed to indicate that the young man had been born amidst the high society, etiquette carefully carved inside his skull as words to live by. People like this usually did not spare a glance in Younghyun’s direction, but for some reason, Wonpil seemed to greatly enjoy conversing with him and it was hard to dislike the entertaining way he told stories.

 

“You do remember my name, right?”

 

“Kim Wonpil?” Younghyun said tentatively, sending him a look; the younger man looked delighted at the sound of his own name, nodding in approval.

 

“That’s me! Considering the amount of times I’ve called your name while I was running after you, I think I’ve got yours memorized too.”

 

“Oh, that.” Younghyun recalled, snapping his fingers in a thoughtless habit. “Did you have something to tell me? You surprised me, I thought I had done something wrong.”

 

“Nothing important. I just wanted to talk to you again. It was fun last time!”

  
  


After a flight of stairs that had led them to the fourth floor, the odd pair was now standing in a dimly lit and quiet hallway, Younghyun unlocking one of the identical doors of the building, Wonpil leaning against the wall right next to him. It was a weird situation, Younghyun thought as he opened the door and told Wonpil he could take a seat on his old couch, after the both of them had gotten rid of their shoes. Had anyone told Younghyun his first guest in Seoul would be a man who was dressed like he could buy the entire building, he would probably have walked away.

 

“This is the first time I’ve seen a house where the couch is placed in front of a window,” Wonpil noted, sitting down and dropping his bag next to him. _House_ was a big word for the little accomodation, Younghyun thought to himself, smiling. His current home was a narrow apartment made of three separate areas: a bedroom, a bathroom, and the space where Younghyun cooked, ate, and spent most of his time. Although the furniture was spare, consisting of a roughed up couch, a lonely stool, an old bed and a rusty table he had borrowed from the landlord’s son, Younghyun couldn’t say he didn’t like the room. Although it was located in Gangnam-gu, a big district, he was renting it at a cheap price his monthly pay could cover soon because the landlord had known his father, many years ago. Furthermore, it was nice to have a constant in his life, a place he could go back to and sleep every night. The walls were paper-thin and the student living next to him liked reading her notes out loud to study late at night, but Younghyun felt too lucky to complain.

 

“Well, it’s mostly because there isn’t a great deal of things to look at inside the room, save for the hideous wallpaper. I figured I might as well sit in front of the most interesting thing in here.” Younghyun explained distractedly, coming back from his bedroom where he had collected his first-aid kit.  

“The window?” Wonpil raised a brow, looking at it as the veteran dragged his only chair to place it beside the couch and next to him, sitting down on it.

 

“No, the city you can see through it.”

 

“That makes much more sense--ah! You surprised me,” Wonpil complained when Younghyun unintentionally let the first-aid kit’s lid close itself in a metallic 'ding’.

 

“Sorry about that. I found some antiseptic, that will have to do. Can you handle doing it yourself?”

 

“Of course, thank you for lending me everything, it’s already a lot,” Wonpil said, grateful.

 

The next minute went by in silence, the young man carefully cleansing his own wound with the thin piece of gauze he had been given. It fortunately wasn’t a deep one but it still stung, making him slightly wince. Younghyun noticed that he had forgotten another wound on the corner of his lips that probably hurt less than the split lip itself, so he pointed at it, and Wonpil gratefully followed his directive, getting rid of the blood staining his skin.

 

“Why did you do it?”

 

His question shattered the silence they were sharing, more abruptly than Younghyun thought it would.

 

“Do what?” Wonpil asked, unsure.

 

“Jump in, and get hurt for a stranger?”

 

“Ah, that,” the younger man chuckled. “I don’t know. They were punching each other like they weren’t going to stop unless one of them was knocked out, and no one was doing anything. So I just thought I’d do it myself. Where can I discard this?”

 

Younghyun got up and brought back the bag he was using as a trash bin with him, inviting Wonpil to drop the used piece of gauze inside it.

 

“You know, in the end I was useless. I jumped in, got hit square in the face by a stray punch. Then, a lady from across the street yelled that the cops were coming so they all ran away, and I just stood there alone like nothing had happened,” Wonpil laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Honestly, why didn’t I think of that?”

 

“Don’t beat yourself up over it. If that lady hadn’t intervened, you would have managed to stop them too, in your own way,” Younghyun said, softly.

At least, _he_ had tried.

 

“I bet you would have done the same thing if you hadn’t been carrying all those sacks, save for the part where you get punched,” Wonpil groaned in embarrassment, burying his face in his hands. “I should really start minding my own business. Look, I’m even bothering you inside your own home.”

 

“If I hadn’t been willing to let you come in, you wouldn’t be in here.”

 

“Still, we barely know each other!” Wonpil objected. He then shifted to sit cross legged on the couch, facing the other man. “I do hope that’s going to change. Your company is pleasant, Younghyun-ssi.”

 

Said Younghyun was still failing to see what made him look like a good person to be friends with in Wonpil’s eyes, but he thanked him hesitatingly. His words were soon followed by a yawn, which surprised the both of them.

 

“Does that mean I’m boring?” Wonpil asked, laughing a little.

 

“Don’t mind me. I’m just tired.”

 

“Then I should stop bothering you. You were obviously busy either, I hope I’m not keeping you from doing anything important.”

 

Younghyun unconsciously glanced at his bed, knowing that if Wonpil hadn’t been there, he would’ve been buried under his covers and wishing for a dreamless sleep. It was nice to have an excuse to put off sleeping and the familiar dread that came with it for Younghyun these days; still, his body was not tolerating his deplorable sleep schedule very well.

 

“I only have a shift to cover in the afternoon,” he explained. “So I usually don’t do anything much productive at this hour. What about you? Don’t you have more pressing matters to take care of than catching up with a stranger?”

 

“I’m telling you we’re friends. We can’t be strangers, I know how you named the dog you had back when you were twelve, thanks to drunk-Younghyun,” Wonpil said, making the veteran chuckle. “Well, I... might actually be skipping my politics class right now, but I’ll just say I missed my bus or something.”

 

“Stop skipping classes,” Younghyun frowned. “The plebeians need you. It wouldn’t hurt to have good people taking Seoul’s lead.”

 

“You’re overestimating me. The last time I tried to take charge of something, and by that, I mean taking care of my own potted plant, I ended up forgetting to water it for two months. Seoul would go down in flames.”

  
  


 

 

 

Wonpil had told him his company was pleasant, and as time went by, Younghyun found himself reciprocating the feeling. Maybe it was only the loneliness of the past month making him enjoy talking to the young man more than he usually would, but Younghyun didn’t care. It was relieving, to have someone he could laugh with like an equal.

At noon, Wonpil had to leave; although he could easily afford to skip his politics class because he had no difficulty learning about the subject on his own, the young man simply did not want to miss out on his literature lecture.

As he was collecting the coat he had left on the couch, Younghyun couldn’t help but notice that, because of his clothes, his refined facial features and the way he carried himself, Wonpil somehow had looked out of place in the rented room, sat upright on an old couch the same way one would sit in front of a grand piano. Despite that, his presence had managed to fill up the entire place, chasing away the loneliness trapped inside it and replacing it with his laughter that rang like the rain after a sunny day.

They had parted with a handshake that Wonpil had initiated, the formality of the gesture surprising Younghyun. 

“Take care, Younghyun-ssi. Now that we’ve met again, you’ll be seeing me a lot more often,” the young man had said, grinning. “Expect another one of my visits before the end of the week!”

Younghyun’s eyes had followed him until he had left the building’s fourth floor, the veteran smiling to himself when Wonpil politely bowed to bid his goodbyes to the landlord who had been sweeping the floor, the old man immediately bowing back albeit a little confusedly, obviously wondering where the well-dressed young man had come from.

 

Once he had disappeared from his sight, Younghyun shut his creaking door, looking at his now deserted apartment. It was time to go back to his own life.


	3. the first summer - something about the way you walked into the room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the start of something new.

_June 3, 1954. Seoul, Gangnam-gu. Segok-dong._

The distant rumble of a timeworn bus coming from another stop across the city, its mechanical roar adding yet another color to the canvas of Seoul’s daily awakening.

Younghyun squinted, frowning a little, hoping that this time, the bus would be the right one. When the vehicle stopped being only a blurry shape, he felt relief wash over him: from where he was standing, it was easy to see a man standing next to the driver, holding a pole to steady himself. Younghyun didn’t even have to see his face to know that it was most likely the one he had been waiting for. He warmed up his injured but recovering shoulder, took hold of his cart and started walking, knowing that the man in the bus had spotted him too.

A few seconds later, the loud vehicle came to a stop where Younghyun had been standing for a while, unloading a few of its passengers.

“I’m so sorry!”

“Took you long enough,” Younghyun replied, shaking his head, as Wonpil catched up to him, slightly out of breath, his brown locks a bit ruffled. They unconsciously adapted their paces to one another, Younghyun slowing down and Wonpil going slightly faster so they could walk side by side.

“I really thought I wasn’t going to make it, this time,” he whined, fanning himself with a novel he was still holding. The book’s bright cover was starting to feel familiar to Younghyun, since it was the only one he had ever seen Wonpil with yet.

“Wake up a bit earlier, it shouldn't be this hard,” he replied, still not quite understanding how Wonpil managed to be this consistently late. “You’ve probably already lived a bunch of years less than me by staying in bed this late every day.”

“And I don’t even mind! Sleep is a part of life, how come everyone keeps denying it?” Wonpil argued. “You know, the only reason I even wake up before the eight o’clock I have been sticking to for years is because I want to talk to you and your ungodly sleep schedule. Don’t ask too much from me, I might pass out if I sacrifice any more sleep.”

Younghyun laughed, giving up, which in turn made Wonpil chuckle too. Oh, if Wonpil had known how much Younghyun used to love sleeping, he probably would have made fun of him.

 

 

 

It was early, like it always was when they met in the morning. They had fallen into some sort of routine along the way, Younghyun had realized a few days ago; like he had promised, Wonpil had come to visit him again, a few days after they’d run into each other. The man had been happy to see him again, although his smile had seemed a little sheepish.

“I got caught skipping last time,” he had explained, frowning, when Younghyun had asked him why. “Father didn’t appreciate it, so I thought about another way to come bother you anyways. The only thing I managed to come up with was leaving my house earlier… which I really hate.”

Still, Wonpil’s determination had gotten the better of him in the end, and for the past three weeks, like clockwork, he had been waking up almost as early as Younghyun so he could take his morning bus to a stop in Segok-dong’s outskirts where Younghyun had picked up the habit to wait for him. Then, together, they walked downtown where Wonpil would take yet another bus to his professors’ homes while Younghyun finished up his delivery.

Truthfully, Younghyun was expecting Wonpil to stop showing up one day, caught up by other priorities, and maybe it was the reason why he felt nervosity in the back of his mind every morning when he waited at the stop. He wouldn’t have had the right to say anything, were that to happen, simply because he knew it wasn’t his life to manage; so Younghyun simply enjoyed Wonpil’s company while it lasted, grateful because their talks kept the numbing loneliness away.

 

“Hey, we should take a break.”

 

Younghyun looked at Wonpil, surprised. “Already tired?”

“Not me,” the young man answered, looking at him, a worried look on his face.

Only then did Younghyun realize that he had unconsciously started to shift the weight of the cart from one hand to another, alternating once in a while instead of using both to support the cart.

It was a bad habit he had picked up because of his shoulder, a way to make it stop aching, but only for a short while; if he did this for too long, he wouldn’t be able to carry anything the next day because of the soreness, had he learnt through painful experiences.

 

“Thanks for warning me,” Younghyun said, sighing.

“I know you hate when I do this, but,” Wonpil said, coming closer. “We’ll go faster this way, trust me.” He swatted Younghyun’s left hand away from the handle, and took hold of the metallic bar instead of him. It was obvious that it wasn’t easy for him, the rice sacks way too heavy for his lanky frame, but he had determination in his eyes. Had it been a normal day, Younghyun would have refused to move until Wonpil had let go of the cart, but the veteran had pushed himself too far the day before and his shoulder hadn’t taken it well, making a muted but exhausting kind of pain pulse in his entire arm. With no other option in front of him, he gave Wonpil a guilty nod, the young man smiling in return.

“Have you ever thought about looking for another job? I know this one pays pretty well, but on the long term it might cost you more than it gave you,” Wonpil said, looking for the right words. His eyes suddenly widened. “Wait, was that too much? Please don’t think I’m trying to be patronizing, I was just wondering.”

“It’s fine. I actually thought this thing would be temporary, but I’m starting to get used to it.” Younghyun explained, thinking out loud. “It’s not like I want to pursue a dream or fulfill a passion, you know? I figured that making this my lifelong career wouldn’t bother me. It’s as good as it gets with my profile, anyways.” It had been a recent thought, the resignation hitting him when he had realized that once his bills had been taken care of, he could still afford the bare minimum and had enough leftover money to send some to his mother. At the end of the month he’d barely own a few scraps to his name, but it didn’t matter; Younghyun didn’t need anything else anyways, after all.

“What if you were given the opportunity to find a better job? Would you take it?”

“I would, if I’m sure it’s one I don’t risk being fired from. I can’t really afford being late on rent.”

Wonpil looked thoughtful, not saying anything for a few seconds. Then, he lit up, and nodded to himself.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“I’m not going to say anything yet, but don’t get too fond of this job.”

“Wait a minute.” Younghyun stopped walking, making Wonpil trip over his own feet, startled. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“Well, it depends! If what you were thinking went something like ‘ _Is Kim Wonpil, my favorite person in the world, going to do his best to find job interviews for me?_ ’ then you got it right.” Wonpil replied, smiling. “And, before you start complaining,” he added, noticing the conflicted frown on Younghyun’s face, “it’s not like I’m handing you the job on a plate. If you do get hired after the interviews, it’s only going to be because you deserve it. No one has enough money to waste on incompetent people who get in through connections, these days. I know it’s a bit hypocritical for me to say that, since _I’m_ an incompetent guy who relies on-”

“If you finish this sentence, I’m burying you under the rice,” Younghyun warned, making Wonpil guffaw. “Listen, I don’t know much about you yet, but there’s one thing I’m sure about: you’re the furthest thing there is from incompetent.”

Wonpil brushed it off with a shrug, but he seemed flattered, a smile creeping up his lips. “Anyways. Do you have a job in mind? A vague affinity for me to work with?”

Younghyun looked down at the ground, pensive. He had never been more than mediocre at anything, had he? Suddenly, before he could give Wonpil an answer, he winced, his head aching again; the timeworn pieces of a memory he had been trying to put aside freed themselves from their forced slumber.

 

‘ _You’re a natural at this_.’

Quiet laughter. The ghost of two smiles and the warmth of a person sitting next to him, both of them staring at a photograph, forgetting for a second about the hell they were surrounded with. Two flickering existences and one that shone brighter than the other.

The veteran stiffened, swallowing a lump in his throat. Not again, not now.

 

“Younghyun?”

“I... I don’t know. Anything would be okay.”

Wonpil only nodded, and if he noticed the sudden change in Younghyun’s expression, he didn’t comment on it. Instead, he quietly gripped the cart’s handle a little tighter and walked faster so Younghyun would have a lighter weight to pull; Younghyun didn’t notice. For the next minutes, the veteran solely focused on his feet, chasing dark thoughts away by distracting himself with the sight of his battered shoes carrying him one step after the other over grey concrete, steadily, like a heart beating.

He didn’t notice that they had reached the factory’s busy street until Wonpil slowed down. Above them, effervescent colors were starting to bleed out of the rising sun, pouring out into the watered down shades of the dawn. Younghyun’s thoughts had quieted down.

“This is your stop,” Wonpil said, with a smile, when they stopped in front of the grey building. “We’re early today! Told ‘ya we’d be faster if you let me help you carry this rice monster.”

“Wonpil.”

“Yeah?” The younger one answered, wiping off the thin layer of sweat on his forehead. He was clearly tired, but he still had the audacity to act like he could carry the world on his shoulders.

“This is the last time you get near this cart,” Younghyun said, shaking his head when Wonpil tried to protest. “I really appreciate your company, but I want us to be friends, to talk together like we’re equals.”

“But we are,” Wonpil was quick to interrupt him. “We are equals. You know I’d never even dare to think that we aren’t. You’re my friend, Younghyun.”

“I know. But whenever you help me with this cart, it makes me feel like a burden.”

Wonpil seemed a bit taken aback by his words, stuck between the need to express his indignation and wanting to respect Younghyun’s wishes; in the end, he nodded, taking a step back.

“I see. I won’t do it again, but whenever the weight is too heavy for you to carry alone, just say the word, okay?”

Younghyun smiled, relieved.

“Thank you, Wonpil-ah.”

“Hey, you dropped the honorifics!”

“You can call me hyung. I think your trial period has been long enough,” Younghyun chuckled at the sight of Wonpil’s hopeful eyes.

“Younghyun-hyung,” The younger man said, quietly, slowly, carefully sounding it out like it was a prize he had finally obtained, the first words of a spell, foreign but beautiful.

A few seconds went by, a short lapse of time during which the possibilities of a deeper friendship, shared memories and unsaid words hung in the air, giving them both a glimpse of a budding future.

For a moment, Younghyun felt a little more ready to tackle what was coming next.

“For the job thing…”

“Yeah?”

“I think I’d know my way around a camera.”

 

 

As he always did, Wonpil disappeared during the weekend, busy with classes all day long; walking alone shouldn’t have bothered Younghyun, but unknowingly, he had gotten used to having someone to share his mornings with. It was hard to admit, for someone who prided himself in his independence, but Younghyun had started to look forward to the first days of his weeks.

The next Monday found the young man waiting at their bus stop, eyebrows furrowed as he looked for a familiar face in the midst of those who stepped down from the vehicle. Much to his dismay, the bus left him fruitless yet again; worried thoughts started taking over Younghyun’s irritation. Was Wonpil alright? He had no way to know, didn’t even have a clue where the young man lived, or who to contact if he went missing.

Younghyun waited until the bus disappeared from his sight, then took hold of his cart. Maybe Wonpil woke up late. Maybe he’d been too busy. Who knew? He was probably worrying himself over nothing, the young man tried to convince himself as he kept on walking.

 

The next day, he waits, a little longer this time, and the day after that, he purposely starts his trip a little later. After all, the people in charge of receptioning his delivery always complained about him coming in too early, he could afford to spend a few minutes waiting.

 

So waiting, he does.

 

A week later, Younghyun has started to think about the possibility of never seeing Wonpil again. One part of him felt like it was going to happen anyways, the other one’s both disappointed and worried. One day where he’s sitting next to the bus stop on an old bench, his cart leaning against a nearby wall, Younghyun thinks about what he probably looks like right now: a lost dog waiting for its owner. With a frown, the young man gets up, and finishes up his delivery alone, like he’s been doing for a while now.

But Kim Wonpil, much like the sun patiently hiding behind clouds on rainy days, doesn’t take long to show up again, against all of Younghyun’s expectations. It’s a Monday, and when the enthusiastic young man runs down the bus stairs with a bounce in his steps, he has to increase his speed to catch up to the man at the end of the road, pulling his ever the same cart with him.

“Hyung!”

He winced, noticing that the other man didn’t so much as throw a glance in his direction although he had clearly heard him.

“Hyung, wait up!”

“Oh, that, I did.” Younghyun finally said, irritation in his voice. He stopped so Wonpil could catch up to him. “Where the hell were you? Do you know how-”

“Before you rip my head off, hold on a second and listen to this, hyung,” Wonpil cut him off, breathless from the running he did. “I have a job at the district’s daily newspaper editing quarters lined up and ready for you! It took a while to get it, but I know this guy who-”

“Okay okay, slow down, catch your breath first, I don’t want you dying on me before I make you pay for making me worry during two entire weeks.”

“Hyung, you were worried?” Wonpil said, looking at him like he had invented a cure for some unknown disease. “I mean, I thought it’d be a break for you to stay away from my blabbering for a little while!”

“Maybe warn me next time, so I don’t have to check if your name’s in a headline everytime the landlord feels generous enough to lend me his daily paper.”

Realization slowly dawned on him, and Wonpil clapped his hands together, lowering his head. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t think it’d take this long, but I didn’t want to get your hopes up and I knew I’d end up running my mouth like I always do if I spent time with you.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, it’s nothing.” Younghyun said, shaking his head, although all he could feel was relief.

“But you just-”

“So, that job you were talking about?”

“Wait, ah, whatever, you’re right good news first. I found a way to snag you a spot at the Gangnam Daily. It’s nothing much, you’re going to have to start at the bottom as a delivery boy… “ Wonpil explained, Younghyun listening intently to him. “The paycheck probably won’t be much bigger than the one you’re getting for the rice deliveries, but the work won’t be as exhausting. Of course, I can look for something else if it’s not enough, but-”

 

“It’s perfect, Wonpil-ah. Couldn’t have been better.”

 

 

That morning, they walked faster than they usually did, carried by Wonpil’s enthusiasm and Younghyun’s eagerness to learn more about the job waiting for him, Although it still sounded too good to be true, the young man allowed himself to be excited at the prospect of the fresh new start he had been dreaming of finally being in his grasp.

When they made their way into the factory’s district, Wonpil was talking about a friend he hoped Younghyun would get to meet soon, the one who had managed to free up a spot for the veteran at the Gangnam Daily.  He spoke of him in flattering terms, a profound hint of admiration in his voice, so Younghyun could only anticipate meeting the fellow, wondering about the man who could make Wonpil seem even more hyper than he usually was.

“Oh my god. We have to get you a new set of clothes before it starts, otherwise he’s going to kill me.”

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing? I’m only gonna be delivering stuff, aren’t I?”

Wonpil took a look at Younghyun’s shirt that had been worn so many times it didn’t look white anymore and the military pants he seemed to have grown way too fond of. He shuddered.

“Please. Just let me help pick things for you.”

“I’m picking the shop. And don’t you dare put your hand anywhere near your wallet.”

“Well, gee, alright!” Wonpil surrendered.

“When would you even be free though?”

“How about… once you’re done with your delivery?”

“You have class, don’t you,” Younghyun squinted, suspicious.

“Well, I thought it’d be harder to convince you to let me help with the clothes, so I moved all my classes to tomorrow. That way, you wouldn’t have been able to deny my help since the arrangements have already been made. Politics lessons have never been this useful.”

“Would only have worked if you were counting on me having a heart, though.”

“You obviously do, since you were _worried_ about me,” Wonpil countered, smiling cheekily. Younghyun groaned, and walked faster, leaving the other man behind when he entered the factory waiting for his delivery, one that he knew all too well after all these mornings walking through it.

When he came back, as expected, Wonpil was having a small talk with the old lady from the shop across the street, as he always did when he was waiting for him. It was almost scary to see how easily the young man had settled into his routine, and how big his presence had felt when he had disappeared. Usually, Younghyun would cross in a heartbeat to shoo the younger man away, not wanting him to be late to his classes; since minor plans were waiting for them instead, he stood there, watching Wonpil laugh his heart out with the old woman. It was weird, how Younghyun had ended up relying on a single person to make him feel like he was still a part of society.

 

“Hey, let’s go! We’ve got some shopping to do!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Had they been in some upscale tailor shop like the ones Wonpil would have picked, Younghyun would probably have had to worry about the boutique’s clerks and their contemptuous gazes. However, amidst the secondhand and old-fashioned clothes of the flea market they had stumbled upon, Younghyun felt at home. It was easy, to close his eyes and take a breath, let the familiar smell of worn leather and dusty fabric take him back to Goyang, on a sunny Saturday, back when his mother used to take him on walks downtown.

Aside the nostalgia that came with strolling around in the market, watching Wonpil discover a part of Seoul he had never spent this much time in before was also extremely entertaining.  The young man was as curious as one could be, eyes trying their best to take everything in, hands touching everything, fingers running on fabrics from every little shop.

They first managed to snag a new pair of black pants from a young widow for a fair price, Wonpil looking extremely enthusiastic at the idea of Younghyun wearing them. Not too long after they had found the pants, they settled for the other half of his soon-to-be work outfit: a white dress shirt that didn’t look as crisp as brand new stuff did, but still was better than anything Younghyun owned.

 

“Do you think I should get a tie too?”

 

The answer was no, but they still spent half an hour marveling at a row of colorful ties, Wonpil looking every bit like an art collectionner who’d have stumbled upon an inestimable antique piece of art.

“I think I’m gonna get the black one,” Younghyun ended up saying, looking pensive.

“Silver is obviously the right choice. Trust me.”

“Yeah, but black would look better with the pants, wouldn’t they?”

“Why would you go with a boring color like black when you look the way you do, hyung?”

Younghyun strangely found himself getting flattered by the casual compliment, staying quiet for a few seconds. With a frustrated sigh, Wonpil complained about his friend not letting him pay for a single piece of clothing; maybe the ties were cheaper than anything Wonpil had ever bought, but they were still a big deal for Younghyun who had been living with the bare minimum for a while now.  Even so, he had strongly objected every time his friend had tried to gift him a piece of clothing.

He weighed the pros and the cons for a short moment; then took some bills out of his pocket. “I’ll take the silver one, miss.”

Wonpil looked like a kid who’d have been gifted candies. “I can’t believe you’re actually doing it!”

“If I end up looking like a fool with that thing on, you’re dead, Pil.”

 

 

 

 

“If that’s what a fool looks like I’d do anything to be one,” Wonpil whistled.

Of course, his tastes were to be trusted. At least that’s what he kept repeating, while Younghyun hesitantly looked down on his outfit. He looked way more ready to meet his future bosses, that was for sure, but did he look as good as his friend made him to be? He was only wearing the dress shirt and the pants they had bought, nothing special, except the silver tie that loosely sat around his neck, not entirely done yet.

“Hold on, you don’t believe me, do you?”

“I didn’t even say anything.”

“Your furrowed eyebrows gave you away. Trust me, hyung, you look like one of the models they used to make us draw when I took art classes.”

Younghyun laughed, moving away from the center of his tiny apartment to get himself a glass of water. “You studied art?”

“I studied _everything_. Which is why I can proudly say that horseback riding has no quality whatsoever compared to any other sports one can play.”

“Were you good at it? Art, I mean.”

“I wasn’t too bad. But I ended up leaving art behind because my teacher’s classes were too fast for me. It takes me forever to finish a piece, and usually whenever I was finally content with one of my works, the class was already three pieces ahead. I drew sceneries! Portraits were harder, because I- well. It was. Ah,” Wonpil slowed down, giving up on finishing his last sentence. Hints of an uncharacteristic shyness veiled his face for a second.

“I will kick you out of my house if you leave me to die in my own curiosity,” Younghyun said, a sly smile on his face. “What was it?”

“Well, staring at an overly attractive stranger’s eyes for hours isn’t exactly the easiest thing. Most of them were...naked, too. I’m ridiculous.”

Younghyun bursted out laughing, like he hadn’t done in a while, partly because of how shameful Wonpil looked, mostly because picturing the younger man’s flushed face in front of some ethereal beauty trying her best to hold back her own amusement was way too easy. “Now I definitely have to see your pieces.”

“They weren’t bad, I swear. Maybe someday? You know what, maybe I should make you model for me. Leaving out the naked part, though. Oh my god,” Wonpil said, slapping his own face while Younghyun chuckled again.

“Why not? My afternoons won’t be free after I take the job, but my evenings will be.”

“Now I can’t wait. Your face is going to look amazing on a canvas.”

“I’m not so sure about that, but it’d be fun to see you try.”

**Author's Note:**

> icb ive been working on this baby since february now... here's my twitter: @youngpiIs (the l is a capital i), happy youngfeel week everyone!


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